Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) Read Free

extended a helping hand to pull me to my feet. I then dusted down my uniform, trying to restore some dignity.
    “I dare say you’d have done the same for me,” he said casually as he placed his pistol back in his holster, whilst Hopkins and the men searched the immediate area for anymore snipers.
    “I think I owe you a good dinner,” I promised.
    Andrew smiled, “Yes when we’re back in London if you please, the restaurants here aren’t up to my normal standards.”
    We both laughed our friendship reaffirmed.
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 2 – A PROPHECY, ROOM SERVICE AND AN SOS.
     
    I‘d been at home lounging around, wondering what to do with the rest of my life when I’d received an invitation to meet Jules Faversham in Stockholm. A few days later here I was. The prospect of seeing him was always to be welcomed, especially when such opportunities came round so infrequently.
     
    Glancing across at him as we walked along the cobbled streets and avenues of the Gamla Stan – the old town area of Stockholm on this wretchedly cold spring day, “Well at least you’re looking well. Been somewhere sunny?” I asked referring to his tanned complexion on his otherwise fair skin and against his blonde hair.
    He nodded and suggested we visit a coffee shop. I’d not seen or heard from him for a year. Jules Faversham was four years older than me. We had first met at school in the Army Training Corp when I was thirteen. Being young and impressionable, we younger boys regarded many of the older boys with awe; not just because they were bigger and cleverer, but because in the case of a few, such as Jules he also had an easy and likeable manner and showed a paternal regard to us younger boys, as a benign elder brother might. After leaving university he had gone to Sandhurst, where his father had been before him. Jules was by all accounts an exemplary soldier and rose to the rank of Major by 30. He’d been seconded to the SAS for two years. He’d also been on missions of which he never spoke. Although we’d never served together, he had a dedication to his profession which I had reliably been informed had rarely been excelled. He was discreet, intelligent, and loyal ; and paradoxically enough you might think for a soldier – regarded as a bit of a scholar. He also spoke several languages.
     
    We sat inside by the warmth of a log fire and ordered two lattes.
    “How are your parents?” he asked politely.
    “They’re well,” I replied.
    “Give them my regards.”
    “I shall,” I assured him as I glanced round the coffee shop and saw that they were so accustomed to foreigners here that all the signs were in English, including the price list - which I had just noticed for the first time. This explained why no Swedes appeared to be drinking here. Accordingly I regarded my latte with a new found reverence as I savoured each sip and dwelt fondly on my Delonghi Bean to Cup Coffee Machine at home.
     
    “So how are things in your “world”?” I asked cheerfully.
    He placed his cup back on the table after having just taken a sip and sat back, his brow became furrowed as if he were visibly contemplating an answer.
    “Do you remember Thornton School?” he asked at last.
    “Yes, of course.”
    “It had been around since before our own school was founded. Over the years our school flourished whilst Thornton languished and shrank. But nevertheless it was a constant, a permanent fixture, even a symbol of stability. And then when we returned at the beginning of a new term when I was in the upper sixth, we were told that it had closed down. Thornton had been consigned to history and our school had taken over some of its buildings and most of its pupils. What had longevity and was seemingly permanent had ceased to exist overnight. Everyone carried on as if Thornton had never existed. Today’s status quo can be become tomorrow’s history in an instant.”
    I nodded, recalling the episode, before taking a sip of my latte; intrigued at